So the phone company just called to say your girlfriend or boyfriend is breaking up with you. You could cry (expected and unsightly), get wasted and bang someone you’re nearly 100% sure isn’t your ex. You could start an underground cat fighting ring, or you could eat some comfort food.
While the first two options may seem like a viable way to cope with bad shit, comfort food seems to be the popular choice. Something in our brain tells us to fuck the diet we’ve been on and eat fried chicken. Or meatloaf. Or, if you’re a real life Cathy cartoon, a whole tub of ice cream. Because comfort food is the shit that reminds of us of our childhood, when our problems were relegated to not being tall enough for awesome roller coasters, the crusts not being cut off our sandwiches (“Goddammit Ma, I don’t know how many time I have to tell you…”) and those fucking annoying childproof pill containers.
Comfort food is a hug from the inside that says “Hey, I’m gonna fatten you up and contribute to your low body image, but just tonight – and probably tomorrow if you’re a slow healer – everything is gonna be alright.”
When I was a kid my mom would make lamb shanks, but that shit takes all day, so I made…